The Secret Life of an English Werewolf
by sawruhr
Summary: Tom doesn't quite know how to live on his own. It takes a little help. discontinued
1. John

**Okay, just want to say that the ghost cop's name is entirely made up, as is his reason for not going through his door. I actually want Tom to join the group next series but until then, I'm going to flesh out a very obscure character while writing about my lovely Tom. Also, if anyone knows of a female vampire in the series that was not killed off and is pretty obscure, tell me! :) I don't own Being Human (do we really need these disclaimers?)**

**:::  
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McNair taught him how to drive. That's all Tom can think of, clenching and unclenching his hand as he walked to the nearest gas station to pick up some gas for the caravan. He avoided the back roads that would surely lead to Honolulu Heights, too embittered to even think of stepping anywhere near there.

There was a cop standing at a newspaper stand, staring at the stack, eyes flickering across the page as he read. Oddly enough, he was without his belt and holster, shirt untucked and eyes red rimmed. This wasn't much concern for Tom, but McNair had always said to be weary of cops. They tended to lead to trouble for people like him. He walked by, easily along the near empty sidewalk, acutely aware of everything in his surroundings. The smell of the after rain, the perfume of some woman farther behind him, the smoky smell coming from a pub across the street. The cop would be wearing cologne, he fancied, as all men tended to do in the cities (Tom really saw no need for it, what with living in the forest for most of his life).

He smelled nothing. Tom paused a few feet from the cop he had just passed, eyes glancing over his shoulder. He could see the cop, and farther away the woman, now chatty on her mobile. Her perfume was fruity. The cop smelled like nothing. Not even sweat.

He had only noticed this once before, with Annie. Slowly, he turned, moving closer to the cop, yet not fully reaching him until the woman walked by. Ignoring his and the cop's entire presence. Tom couldn't help but peak over his shoulder, eying her bleach blond hair and smooth legs. He knew it was wrong, McNair was always against that sort of stuff.

"Are you dead?" Tom didn't really consider how much of a silly question he had just asked, but decided it was the only thing he could possibly say. The cop seemed genuinely surprised, snapping his head around to stare wide-eyed at the werewolf.

"You can see me?" he stuttered out, his eyes a bright blue- it almost reminded him of George. Tom nodded, eyebrows furrowing to give the man a look of sympathy.

"You're a ghost, aren't you? Why are you here?" he pressed, though not too interested in knowing. He didn't want to stay in Barry or Wales any longer. Not anymore, not without McNair. The cop glanced down at the pavement, looking terribly pale for a ghost.

"I…I didn't go through my door." He glanced back up at Tom, guilty. The young McNair didn't know how to respond.

"I mean, there was this woman, and my body just woke up and I _saw _myself. I was dead and I saw my body get up, I saw how I had died. It was…I couldn't just leave! I needed to know why me? I couldn't just walk through that door, I couldn't leave my mum and dad, I…that woman, she told me to go, not to miss the chance. I was going to, but… I saw that white light and I just _couldn't _leave," ranted the cop, gesturing with his hands. Tom still didn't know quite what to say. Annie was the only ghost he had ever met and they never really talked about her being a ghost. (And sometimes Tom forgot that- she was so pretty, just like Nina).

"There's nothing for you here," Tom said quietly, looking the man in the eyes. "I'm sorry. You just…we just have to move on." Tom thought about his dad, how unfair it was that _he _didn't come back as a ghost, just to say bye or-or something! It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all. The ghost smiled sadly.

"You must think I'm some sort of idiot. Jesus, I can't believe this. I…" He paused, letting out a dry laugh. "The one day I forget to wear my crucifix," he mumbled, staring at Tom's cross around his neck. Tom didn't say anything.

"I'm John," offered the cop, putting out his dead, dead hand. Tom took it without a second thought, years of manners beaten into his head by McNair.

"Tom." The ghost sighed, letting go of his hand, and turning to once again look at the newspaper stand.

"They caught that Box Tunnel 20 guy, you know." He laughed that dry laugh again, but didn't say anything else.

"I'm sorry," burst out Tom suddenly. "I'm sorry this happened to you. But, I…I have to go, I'm sorry." John looked up so suddenly, the same wide eyed look from the start.

"No, you're, other than that woman, you're the first one who's been able to see me. Why is that? Are you sorta like that woman from _Ghost_?" Tom raised an eyebrow.

"_Ghost_? No, I'm just- look, I have to go," mumbled Tom, turning and pacing away. Dead John just kept making him think of his dead dad.

"Wait! Tom! Please, I don't know what to do!" called John, pleading. Tom cringed and stopped. He couldn't just leave the poor man. It wasn't proper. It wasn't right, McNair wouldn't be proud.

**:::**

**Oh how ironic that Mitchell would kill a man with the same name as him ohohoho. Anyway, I'm not sure if this will just stay a oneshot or what. I kinda wanna continue and really delve into Tom's character so it would be cool to get another person to fill the vampire role. Any minor female vamps in the series because all I can think about is Cara and she's dead, as is Daisy according to McNair. I'm hesitant to bring in an OC so any ideas would be great since I really want a vampire in this story. (srsly, it's gotta be the ghost+wolf+vamp combo or nothing)**


	2. John's Corpse

**I don't know where I'm going with this.**

**:::**

Tom had never once considered the possibility of ghosts until he met Annie. Vampires, he could deal with. McNair taught him how to snap necks when he was 13, the second time they encountered vampires.

(Because the first time they were too busy running, Tom too busy crying.)

The elder McNair reached for the body of the only vampire he hadn't staked, lying on the ground, eyes open, unable to move because it was technically paralyzed. It would take a while for the vampire's body to heal, for it to adapt and for the corpse to finally adjust, just like it had adjust to a non-beating heart and lack of blood flowing through arteries and veins.

For good measure, McNair had shoved a metal pole (not stake, not yet) through the vampire's chest, right into the ground to hold it in place. The vampire tried to say something, but blood just poured out of its mouth, staining his fangs as its eyes faded in and out of that black oily color. Tom could remember watching, fascinated, wondering offhand when he would soon have his own necklace of vampire teeth just as his father had. The vampire looked to be only 20, young. Maybe just changed, maybe not.

"It's simple Tom, but pay attention," said McNair, crouching near the vampire's head, not giving the monster a second look as it continued to choke on blood. "Staking is always best but sometimes you might be in a tight situation without the proper equipment." (Thinking about it now, Tom realizes it parallels the talk McNair had with him about _girls _when he turned 16).

"Hold its chin." He placed one hand on the vampire's bloody chin, the blood getting in the creases of his fingers. "The other hand should be on the back of its head." As McNair placed his other hand in the proper position, the vampire started to gurgle, more blood spewing from its mouth, dripping down its chin and onto McNair's right hand, staining it. Its arms started to shake, a futile attempt at some movement.

"Tom." Tom glanced at his father, taking his eyes off the heaving vampire. McNair gave him a look, one that often precluded a necessary lesson in being an English werewolf. "Pay attention, son. You want to push its head in one direction, it doesn't matter which." He slowly turned the vampire's head to the right, the bones in its neck making some sort of disgusting sound that Tom remembers frightened him at the time. "Then, you just quickly push with the hand on its head and pull with the one on its chin so that its head snaps in the opposite direction." This action was done a bit faster, but obviously it was difficult to show exactly how to snap one's neck when the example was already broken. McNair did it again, just as the vampire's hands began to tremble, its body finally able to cope with the damaged neck.

Getting up, McNair brushed some of the blood from his right hand on the vampire's shirt.

"It takes a bit of effort. Maybe when you're a bit older I'll let you have a go at it. It's best to do near the full moon at your age now." He smiled, ruffling Tom's hair with his clean hand, his other reaching to grab the stake in his belt loop. Just as the vampire let out some sort of hiss, the bones in its neck making that awful sound, and its hands already pulling out the pole, McNair turned and plunged the stake through its chest.

Tom had seen vampires die before, but somehow, watching this one gasp, head unnaturally positioned because of the still healing neck, the pole falling from its hands as it sunk to the floor, it was…unnerving.

"What do you think happens to me now?" It was John who interrupted his thoughts, slouching against the caravan as Tom finished filling up the gas tank. They were in the woods, in the same area that McNair had left the vehicle before Tom had carried him off to Honolulu Heights. Tom shrugged, not really quite sure of what to do now. He didn't exactly know what happened if you didn't go through your door (he was sure Annie mentioned something about those, but she was vague, not wanting to "ruin the mood" as she said) and Tom wasn't quite up to going anywhere near George and company. He just couldn't. Not yet.

"I mean," started John, glancing at Tom, "I saw the light and…Christ, I don't know why I didn't go through. I was so scared and I…I just couldn't leave." Tom shrugged, tossing the gas container inside the back of the caravan, closing the doors.

"How did you die?" he asked bluntly, unaware of such a thing as tact. John furrowed his eyebrows, pushing off the caravan.

"I was called in with a special police force to a B&B. We were told the Box Tunnel 20 killer was in there…he was apprehended, a crazy looking guy, and some of my mates took him off. I was supposed to stick around with five other officers and two forensics guys…" he trailed off now, looking at the ground. Tom frowned, something about the story sticking out to him, something familiar.

"We heard something from upstairs. One of the detectives who was leading the case said she was going to get one of the household members who was dysfunctional. We waited in silence and one of our guys, Jack, went upstairs but something…something _threw _him down. This _thing, _this _man_, came flying at us, ripped our guns away and tore off our body armor like it was nothing." Unconsciously, John reached to rub his neck, causing Tom to narrow his eyes before widening them in realization.

"Herrick attacked you," Tom said quietly, eyes wide. John gave him a puzzled look.

"What? We were taken down like…like cattle. I barely remember much after I hit the ground, just this pain in my neck…he bit it clear off…" Once again, he reached for his neck. He then laughed humorlessly.

"I felt myself fading in and out of consciousness. It almost felt like an hour there, trying to scream, nearly drowning in my own blood." He paused, contemplating. "Then the oddest thing. I remember hearing a woman groaning, then some shuffling by me. I was bordering total unconsciousness at that moment, but I heard something clatter to the floor, then some man's voice. It was an accent I couldn't quite place…" Tom shook his head, everything finally falling in place. John had been after Mitchell. He was one of those near-dead officers at the B&B when he had walked in on an injured Nina. Nina, who was stabbed by Herrick.

Unconsciously, Tom slammed the gas tank's panel shut, hand setting firmly on the lid, eyes narrowed. Surely, someone would have noticed dead police with their necks ripped out? This would be all over the news, wouldn't it?

"Where would they put your body? The bodies of the others?" asked Tom, making up his mind as he turned to John. The ghost just stared blankly for a moment before shrugging.

"Probably keep it in the coroner's station of the lab – the basement, you know? Since they probably consider it a criminal investigation…" he trailed off, his own eyebrows now furrowed in confusion.

"So there will be an investigation on your murder?" pressed Tom. John nodded, though unsure.

"I suppose…yes. Of course, I was _murdered_. Stuff like that just can't be brushed under the rug, yeah?" Tom didn't answer his question, already heading back toward town, forcing John to hurry after him.

"Where are you going now?"

"To see your corpse."

**:::**

"It's a good thing you got here so soon. All the bodies recovered from the B&B, including your cousin's, are shipping out to funeral parlors tomorrow. All in the hands of the family now," said the officer, moving toward one of the shelves on the wall, Tom, playing the part of John's somber cousin, and a jittery John followed, both trying to ignore the putrid smell and grim tables lined with surgical tools. The officer glanced down at his clipboard before locating a specific locker, one at his elbow level, and unlatched it, pulling the slab out to reveal and partially covered body. This John looked like the ghost John, only he had stitches all along his neck, disappearing under the white sheet placed over to preserve some sense of modesty. Ghost John had a hard time keeping an eye on his body, looking at Tom.

"Why? Ask him why are the bodies being moved tomorrow?" Tom did so, not looking away from John's dead body. The officer shrugged, starting to drift toward the stairs.

"Head office fixed up the paperwork, wouldn't give out the details. They're sorta keeping this underwraps, who knows why."

"How did he die?" Tom asked this without being prompted by John and already knowing the answer, finally pulling his eyes away from the corpse. The officer rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable as he wavered toward the stairs.

"There was this bust at this B&B yesterday, supposedly where the Box Tunnel 20 killer lived. Honolulu Hills or something." The officer paused, looking as if he was not going to say more.

"The entire squad was massacred," mumbled the officer, looking away. "At least they caught the guy. Case closed."

"There's stitches in his throat," Tom managed to get out, for what reason, he was not sure. Some part of him wanted humans to know about vampires, to wake up to realize their nightmares were real. After all, why did Tom and his father have to face such horror alone, always watching their backs, awaiting the day they will no longer be able to fight against these monsters?

"Like I said, head office did the paperwork. I'll give you some time alone. Just lock up before you leave." With that, the officer turned to leave, his withdrawing footsteps leaving the werewolf and ghost in silence. Tom slowly brought his eyes back to John's body. The ghost himself was simply staring, perhaps looking for some sort of _life_. Tom narrowed his eyes at the stitches on the body's neck, the skin around taut and looking unnaturally stressed. Must have bitten most of his throat out. His eyes followed the trail of stitches to the white sheet placed on bodies when family came to identify the bodies. Tom reached out and pulled it back, seeing the stitches end slight above John's right nipple. All of a sudden, John's hand reached out to smack his away, causing the sheet to once again cover him up.

"What the hell," barked the ghost, eyes narrowed—it was the first time he had expressed _real _emotion that Tom could finally see as tangible.

"I was checking where the wound ended," said Tom rather innocently, unsure of why John had become so defensive. John seemed to turn red, his already rosy cheeks brightening more.

"I thought- nevermind. Just please, don't touch me. My body I mean. But don't touch me as I am now either." He was fumbling with his words and Tom could only stare.

"A vampire killed you," said Tom, looking once again at the body. John gave him an incredulous look before doing a double take at the corpse.

"What? Because I died from a neck wound? This isn't some sort of story book," rambled John, unconsciously reaching out to place a hand on the metal slab his body was lying on. Tom furrowed his eyebrows, looking John in the eye.

"You don't know…" he trailed off.

"Know what? Spit it out!" John seemed to be growing angry again, fingers clenching against the cool metal of the slab. If Tom was bothered by his anger, he didn't show it.

"The Box Tunnel 20 killer was a vampire." It had to be Mitchell they were after - who else in Honolulu Heights could commit such a horrific crime? "There was another vampire in the house, probably the dysfunctional one that detective was going to get. Must have attacked you all in the house." John just stared at him, growing more and more irritated, jaw clenching. Just as he was about to curse at Tom for pulling a sick joke, there was the sound of someone pounding on metal. Then, a voice.

"Help! Can anybody hear me? Where the hell am I?" The banging continued, along with more and more frantic, distinctly feminine, cries for help, all originating from one of the square lockers near the end of the shelf. Tom and John exchanged a look, and without hesitation, Tom pulled out a stake he had left in his belt loop from when he had tried to attack Herrick. When vampires killed humans, they either came back as ghosts, or if they were truly unlucky, vampires. John simply stood in place, hands still clenching the slab of metal as his eyes followed Tom to the particular locker that the screaming was coming from. With a swift turn of the latch, he pulled the slab out.

**:::**

**Cue start of another werewolf/vampire/ghost story. **


	3. A Blonde

**Turns out Tom's going to be a regular in Season 4! Too bad George is going to be written out and Nina is already gone ): I don't own Being Human**

**:::**

A punched nearly knocked Tom off his feet. He let out a hiss of pain, stepping back to clutch his bruised nose, fingers brushing against the damaged cartilage.

"What the hell is going on?" It was a woman, eyes wide, breathing heavily, one hand holding the starchy white sheet to her naked body, the other clenched into a fist.

"What was that for?" responded Tom, rubbing his nose, but not sounding too offended. It wasn't bleeding, after all, and he was rather use to getting injured due to his abnormal career.

"Where am I, you pervert?" The blond woman asked, taking a look around the temporary morgue for the murdered victims of Honolulu Heights, catching sight of the startled John, and pulling the sheet closer to herself as she slid off the metal slab.

"What's going on? Who are you two?" she barked out when neither of them responded, her body pressing back up against the lockers behind her, as Tom was blocking her path in front, and John was still standing at her right with his own corpse, the stairs to the exit farther behind him.

"You can see me?" It was John who finally responded, eyes wide, hands falling from the metal slab, now facing the woman. She snorted, standing slightly taller, one hand unconsciously moving to rub a spot on her neck.

"Of course, you prick. And what the hell is that smell?" The woman cringed, sniffing the air as if to track the smell, nose picking up the smell of dead bodies and something she couldn't quite place.

"I'm sorry," said Tom, moving to grab the woman by the shoulder, pushing her into the lockers, the opposite hand holding up the wooden stake. The blonde started to scream, and Tom heard John start to yell in the background but ignored him, pushing his body up against the newly turned vampire to hold her in place, the hand on her shoulder moving to cover her mouth to quiet her.

"Hey, what are you doing?" yelled John rushing to grab Tom's arm that was readying the stake. Tom could easily throw him off, but considering John had no idea what this woman was, there was no need to harm him for his ignorance.

"She's a vampire," commented Tom casually, glancing over his shoulder as said vampire clawed at his hand. He was a bit surprised at his own monotone, but Tom could not bring himself to care for much of anything at the moment. It was another vampire, and to his father, it was another abomination that needed to be cleansed from the earth.

"She's just a woman for Christ's sake," cried John, blue eyes wide and red rimmed. Were they always so bright? Perhaps Tom never noticed. "Besides, you can't just bloody kill someone in a morgue! Especially with a cop just upstairs – you're going to go to jail!"

"I don't think you understand how this works," remarked Tom, glaring at John. "Don't get in the way, mate." With that, he attempted to brush John away, but the ghost put up a struggle, trying to pull the stake away from Tom. When his grip on her mouth weakened, the vampire managed to get out of his hold and start screaming as she ran toward the stairs, hands barely holding the white sheet over her body. Tom elbowed John in the jaw to push him away, and lunged for the blonde, his hand grabbing the edge of the white sheet covering her, causing the woman to slip and hit her head against the handrail of the stairs. In less than a second, her screaming stopped and her body fell to the floor, limp and unconscious.

**:::**

"Why? Why, why, why, _why?_" John wringed his hands, following Tom through the forest, dodging low tree branches as they made their way back to the caravan. Tom didn't reply, hadn't said anything since he snuck out of morgue, past the guard, with the petite woman thrown over his shoulder and a fretting John in tow. He wasn't exactly sure why he decided to not stake the vampire on the spot, but then again, John whining into his ear was a pretty good deterrent, and, as much as Tom tried to deny it, the gash on the woman's head from hitting the handrail almost made her seem...human.

"_Why _is this happening to me? How did I end up in the company of a crazy person who kills women who are mistaken for dead?" John ranted, throwing his hands in the air as he picked up his pace to keep up with Tom. The white sheet wrapped haphazardly around the woman on his shoulder made it look like he had just stolen a body, which he technically had, but as John had reasoned as they left, they were trying to _help _an obviously confused young lady.

"And vampires? Seriously, _seriously_? Sure I may be dead, but _vampires_?"

"It _is _dead," Tom finally said as they approached the caravan. He unlocked the back with his free arm and pulled open the doors before throwing the unconscious woman none too gently inside, her feet slightly sticking out.

"It?" questioned John, wrinkling his eyebrows, standing a bit far from the werewolf. Sure, he was a ghost, but that didn't mean he wanted to invoke the young man's anger.

"The vampire," nodded Tom, gesturing to the unconscious woman, the sheet barely hanging off of her, pale skin clear in the sun.

"_It _is a woman. Do you even hear yourself right now?" broke John, waving his arms around again, nearly fed up, as if asking the universe if he was the only sane person left. Tom stepped closer to the ghost, looking him in the eye.

"Do you know why I can see you? Why that 'woman' can see you?" John didn't responded, mouth partially open, eyebrows furrowed. Tom didn't sound particularly _mad _but he did seem just a tad aggravated.

"I'm a werewolf. My father was a werewolf. We use to kill vampires. They exist. How could one man kill your entire team? It wasn't a man, that's why." The woods were silent, as if all the animals had stopped as Tom's voice got lower and darker. John stood still, searching the man's eyes for some sort of joke, some lie.

"I don't know if I can believe you," the ex-officer finally breathed, voice nearly a whisper.

"You're dead. You're dead and you're still walking around, right? If ghosts exist, what else do?" John's eyebrows knitted together as he glanced at the caravan, where the woman's bare feet were hanging out the back.

"How do you know she's one? A vampire?"

"When you're attacked by one, you either end up dead, like you, or one of them," explained Tom with a shrug, returning to his near disinterested attitude. John nodded slowly in understanding.

"And because her body actually got up and moved, she must be a vampire," concluded the ghost.

"Yeah, and the only way to kill a vampire is-"

"Staking it. I know the lore, yeah," interrupted John, looking down at the ground, trying to set straight all the information he was receiving. Tom watched him for a moment, unable to really read what John was feeling, but took it as acceptance. He reached for the stake in his belt loop, this time intent on finishing what he started in the morgue. That is, until he heard a voice from the back of the caravan, hearing the woman, no, vampire, he corrected, waking up from the blow to the head.

"Eughh," groaned the recently turned vampire, one hand going to the wound on her head that was already starting to close up, courtesy of the vampire healing she didn't even know she was a lucky receiver of. Taking her hand back, the woman caught sight of the blood, dark red against her palm. She tilted her head, staring at the liquid, something about it enticing her. Her dry throat called out for a drink, and her own blood was looking like her only option.

"You'll throw up." The voice with the peculiar accent snapped the blonde out of her trance, and in less than a second she was fumbling with the sheet, pulling it up around herself. Tom and John were standing at the back door of the caravan, staring at her, Tom with pity, John with confusion.

"What?" asked the blonde, narrowing her eyes.

"Drinking your own blood. It'll make you vomit." The woman looked back down at her stained hand that had also ruined the white sheet. Her eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed for a moment in thought before they widened, now in realization.

"I'm one of them," she breathed, before looking up at the pair. "One of those _things_."

"So you understand why I need to kill you?" asked Tom, moving his hand to the hilt of the stake in his belt. The woman didn't seem to hear him, her view unfocused at she mumbled under her breath.

"The uncle…he was one of them, like Cooper…he turned me into one." She looked to be broken, choking on her breath as her clean hand moved to her neck, resting on a particular area, probably where she was bitten. Tom watched in silence, hand still against the hilt of the stake as he watched the woman in front of him break down.

"You don't have to kill her, do you?" John asked, glancing at the werewolf. Tom just stared at the woman attempting to staunch her tears, and failing horribly. He had never thought he'd see a vampire cry in front of him, and not because they were about to face death, real death.

"_Tom I want you to live a different life now, one that's decent…Let it end. I want you to be human now. Stop the chaotic violent life: make this the end of that story."_

"No. I suppose not."

**:::**

**Cooper is the detective dude that Nancy asked to analyze Mitchell's fingerprints. I figured that after him attacking her and witnessing a stake through his heart (obvious vampire thing) she'd catch on, especially after Herrick (Uncle Billy) killed her. **


End file.
